The Sending of the Bull
by merriza
Summary: What's happening in Wizarding London now the war is over? Draco is fighting prejudice and Pansy is making life as hard as possible. Draco/Blaise, implied Draco/Pansy. Please R&R. WIP or complete? You decide...


Please be nice, this is my first go at this and it's a varitation of a story I had to write for English Extension. Vaguely based on a part of The Epic of Gilgamesh. I would appreciate reviews. Thanks.

The Temptation and the Sending of the Bull

The sound of someone storming up the hallway caused Pansy to start from her reverie. Pausing, she hesitated between sweeping the door open or sprawling herself seductively over some piece of furniture. But her indecision lasted too long and the next moment the door crashed open as if in a huff of its own anger. That same instant Pansy felt herself on the bed, a hard chest pinning her down and a knife at her throat.

She gazed up at the young man, and acknowledged that batting her eyelashes at him would not be for the best. Harsh halogen lights shone unforgiving from the ceiling, casting starkness over Draco's striking, angular face. It was the face Lucifer while he still graced the heavens; the only thing was that this wicked angel had by now fallen. Draco bared his teeth and scowled, shadows hiding already dark-grey eyes, "What do you think you are doing?" he demanded.

The cold edge of his blade dented Pansy's skin, disturbingly close to the jugular. With an uneasy swallow and smile, she blinked. "Trying not to move?"

Draco pulled away, glowering, the knife disappeared. "You should have given me some warning that you had planned to come around. Or even arrived after me?" The suggestion was left hanging and ignored as Pansy was too busy trying to figure out why he looked so different. He was still favouring an old knee-length leather jacket, threadbare T-shirt and had on those washed out jeans, worn thin and smooth as silk. But something had been altered since the last few times she had seen him, in the doorway, awash with that red light. Raking an appreciative look up and down his body, she decided it must be his hair. Gone was the usual run-over by a lawn mower, spiky look. His silvery, platinum hair appeared freshly washed, his fringe that was wanting a trim, flopping into his eyes. The rest of him just didn't seem to have followed it into the shower though: there were dark smudges all over his arms, popping the veins into relief, and one along his cheekbone.

"What have you been doing?"

"Working."

"In a dungeon?"

"Not all our payments are transferred conveniently and hygienically in Gringott's or through owl post," Draco snapped. He appeared to be about to say something else when the realisation of what Pansy was wearing wormed its way through his initial surprise. A very quick double take occurred.

"What in all seven hells are you doing here woman? Wearing that!" he roared and pointed one very pissed finger at her chest.

Pansy smirked alluringly and struck a pose. Glancing down she raised an eyebrow, "This, Draco?" she gestured to take in the ridiculous Dominatrix costume she had stolen off one of the easier girls who hung around The Den. "This is just for you gorgeous. You used to love it when I would get dressed up." She finished with a pout and had a laughable attempt at puppy dog eyes. Pansy quickly stopped this miserable ploy when she saw Draco's eyes blazing with anger; maybe she should not have bought up their teenage experiences.

"Well that is the point, is it not?" He very nearly screamed, "I _used _to. The same way I _used_ to aspire to be a Death Eater, or I _used_ to hex and belt people for the fun of it. People move on in the world Parkinson! And not matter what you do, I will not come whimpering back to you with open arms and my knees tucked between your well-spread thighs." Draco calmed down enough to sneer this last remark and proceeded to grab her by the arm and drag her from his apartment. Pansy shivered at this treatment and tried to dig in her heels.

But Draco just shoved her out the door and advanced on her with an eerie look glowing from his eyes. Leaning toward her he hissed, "Go back to your Den and stay there slut. Are you not the 'Barren Bitch' who is too dry and too used for anyone to enjoy these days? I've heard that you're the one they give to those who come back after not paying enough or knocking around one of the other girls. I've heard what you get asked to do. You've castrated how many now? Is it true that you give the effing clap to anyone who sticks you? Or is that HIV giving you those massive bags under your eyes?"

Pansy could feel the tears welling up; she had been unaware that the rumours were becoming that hideous. She was not old. She was not ill. She was simply exhausted. Indignation was clawing its burning way through her chest and fanning the fire creeping across her face. "Oh, and how can you say that you arsehole? Still paying people off to take their virgins? Or is it true that you having managed to wrestle a ring on some poor sod's finger?"

Draco froze. "I never took someone who did not want me to and Blaise is in no way poor, in disposition or any monetary ways."

"Blaise a girl's or guy's name, darling?" Draco said nothing to this; he simply snarled and swept away.

~Ω®¥®Ω~

"Daddy," Pansy sat herself down in her father's lap and curled into his chest, "I just need a hug."

Mr Parkinson complied happily enough, he rarely saw his daughter, but he was slightly thrown. Since when had Pansy sought comfort from him? Normally she secured everything she wanted herself and dismissed her father's efforts to help her businesses upstage their competition, this was definitely different.

"Is everything going okay at the 'Broomsticks sweetheart?"

"Yeah of course. _But,_ Daddy, I was wondering if you could please do me one easily compensated favour..."

~Ω®¥®Ω~

The pub was, as per usual, packed to the rafters and no one cared in the slightest. The Torpedoes were in the National Cup and word had got around that everyone's favourite landlord, the infamous Draco Malfoy was engaged. Speaking of the devil (and the entire wizarding community was), Draco leered jokingly at the barmaid and shrugged in assent to what Blaise had ordered them. It was still a little odd going to the Leaky Cauldron as an actual couple, even when nobody would recognise them; or at the very least, had yet to. Draco and Blaise knew that the anonymous nature of their relationship would end soon, and it seemed this night was where their luck would run out.

A feral shout echoed over the din over the room, "Well looky here. I think I've finally found 'im." Someone dragged themselves onto a table with a very bad drunken act and somehow, more than two hundred patrons were silenced in seconds.

"Hmm, I knew I would find you mate!" The massively built man stumbled along the table and leapt onto the bar, his gaze fixed on the two figures at seated at the end.

Every person occupying the booths and shadowed corners of the pub knew the monster who was prowling over the bar mats. Adrian 'The Bull' Pucey was the most sadistic fist from Knockturn Alley and he kept just the right amount of people happy to not have a care in the world. And with this power he could take down almost anyone, except the man he was going for tonight. If The Bull had actually known that disreputable looking man he had been directed to beat the living daylights out of was Draco, he probably would have Crucioed the simpering girl who had whispered the instructions in his ear. But he didn't find out until it was too late and she had vanished from the scene.

Pansy hadn't really vanished, she just slunk to a dark nook and settle down to watch her revenge play out. Since Draco had insulted her to the lowest hells she had been alternately stalking him and paying others to do so when she was bored. At first she was exuberant to find that Draco _was_ engaged, and to Blaise Zabini, who happened to be an old school mate and male! Revealing that seemed to be the perfect idea for a moment, until she had determined that that would not be quite painful enough. Cursing him to a bloody, barely-breathing plump in front of said fiancée seemed much more fun. And so she had sweet talked her father into letting her borrow Adrian for the night and was now prepared for one very welcome show.

Draco was wrapped up in a thigh length trench coat, collar tugged up, and contentedly appearing a shady as possible. Whereas Blaise was knocking back neat shots of some nasty black substance, seeming care-free and as normal as anyone who graced the Leaky Cauldron. Both men turned slightly to try and see what the carry on was all about when Pansy witnessed the beginning of her plan's demise. Draco's coat fell apart around his knees to give a glimpse of why he was wearing it in the first place. Strapped over his jeans, around calves and thighs, were his trademark blades and ebony wand.


End file.
